It’s late, I’ve just been to see ‘My Dad Wrote A Porno’ at DeMontfort Hall, which was excellent. I did not win a wok, which was sad, but everything else about it was brilliant.
Everyone else is asleep and I have five whole minutes to myself while the house is quiet, so I thought I’d say hello.
So many things are happening, so much of the time, and when they’re not happening I am generally falling asleep. I am not even finding time to read, which saddens me, because life is extremely busy and full of strange events. Mostly they are good events, but they are also pushing me so far out of my comfort zone I am commuting in from Saturn. It turns out that living outside my comfort zone is knackering.
Let me catch you up.
The first day of taking photos for my friend Matt’s exhibition happened. He brought along his friend Caitlin who is a videographer, and now it transpires we are making a documentary, and we are taking photos, and this all happened rather spontaneously. I decided to say ‘fuckit’ and just do it, and now we are, and when I think about it too much it totally weirds me out, so I am just doing it, and not thinking about it, and it will be great, and who knew I would be making a documentary at the age of 46? I shall tell you more about it later on when I can think about it without running round with a tea towel on my head, screaming.
I went to the hospital, but the hospital did not deliver. It transpires that the clinic simply did not happen, for reasons which are inexplicable and were very annoying. I got a phone call yesterday asking if I could possibly rock up on Friday afternoon as they have now thrown together an impromptu gynae clinic. probably being held by the local scouts for a new badge. So thanks to ‘My Dad Wrote a Porno’, I am fully au fait with where my cervix is, and will probably be able to do my own tests using some simple household objects and the contents of my handbag.
I went to London for the day to do the film thing for the Huffington Post. Jason also had to go to London, not to talk about his vagina. He talks about graphs and gant charts and goes to meetings in pointy buildings with men who were born in pin stripe suits and wear shoes which are too pointy for their own good. There is a lot of pointiness going on in the cut and thrust world of big business. It’s probably very meaningful, but it is certainly very dull, so we won’t think about that.
I, on the other hand, did my filming and then went to spend half an hour in Heals, breathing in the scent of hand crafted furniture and money. It was really soothing. After that I walked and walked until my feet fell off. I went all round my old haunts and explored some new ones. I bought two pairs of Chie Mihara shoes in a charity shop and nearly wept with joy. A lady bonked me on the head with a tray in Bills in Covent Garden. She was mortified. I was dazed, but also impressed that she didn’t fling sausages all over the place.
I got hideously lost trying to find Jason to have dinner, because they will insist on digging up Victoria and I completely lost my bearings. I wailed and wailed like Violet Elizabeth and he shouted ‘Don’t move. I can see your hair!’ and I didn’t move, and he did see my hair, and then I cried because I was very old and small, like Mrs. Pepperpot. I had to be consoled with noodles and tea and a rest of my weary bones and all was well.
On Friday I went to see SingalongaSoundofMusic, which was on my bucket list because I love it and it reminds me of my granny. And I dressed in a dirndl skirt and was happy, but tired, and many of my friends came to support me being happy in a dirndl skirt. I loved a small boy called Arthur who was only nine, and who won a prize for being brown paper packages wrapped up in string. I sang with gusto, and booed the Nazis, and admired the Countess’ dress, even though she was a cow, and had a miniature crush on Christopher Plummer. It was all very exhausting, particularly as in between all that, I wanted to kill the people behind us, who were extremely annoying in every conceivable way.
On Saturday I went to a Swish event, which is like a posh bring and buy sale. I ate chocolate cake and got a dress with cockatoos on it, and as if that weren’t pleasing enough, Jason took us all out for dinner when I got home and I had a burger with a fried egg on top, and it made me very happy.
On Sunday our friends Nicki and Rob came, and we started planning mine and Jason’s not wedding, which is happening on September 22nd. The steampunk theme is back on, and I spent a happy few hours researching mobile cocktail lounges and ice cream vans in your front yard.
This week, Tallulah has been doing work experience. She is experiencing the deep dullness of regular work, and it is teaching her the valuable life lesson that she would be better off marrying an eccentric millionaire, or robbing a bank. Tilly started her first week of actual real, Dolly Partonesque 9/5 jobs. She is working at Waterstones (praise be for the staff discount), and is currently training in Nottingham because the Leicester branch is the size of a shoe cupboard. Oscar is due to sit his SATS at any moment and is heartily sick of school because it is wall to wall tests and stressed teachers pulling their hair out, and even though he is the most relaxed child I know, even he is fed up.
I am still doing many patient panel things, and eventually will be able to go on Mastermind with ‘disappointing things you learn about the NHS’ as my specialist subject.
I have finished re-organising my wardrobe with Wonder Carol, who is brilliant at decluttering. We have now adopted her, and she is helping us with everything we can think of, because we are rubbish at being grown ups, and she is brilliant at it and never gets bored and wanders off to the biscuit barrel, or throws a blanket over things, shouting ‘fuck that noise, let’s go to the pub.’ Honestly. She is amazing. I need to write a blog post all about her, but you should definitely use her, for everything.
I am randomly throwing things on EBay and making some money, which is good, because I need some. My front room still looks like hell, but I trust it will look less hellish eventually. I think this is a lie, but I am telling myself this because what else is there to do about it all?
I have really sore ribs this week. I think I might have some kind of weird chest infection. Or maybe I got kicked by a horse when I wasn’t looking. I don’t know. It really hurts when I laugh, so this evening’s trip was a bitter sweet experience indeed.
I am quite grumpy about the rib thing. I need to be well. I am out with Jenn tomorrow. We have been promising ourselves a treasure hunting adventure for two months, and tomorrow is the day. Friday I am hospital bound, but not for lungs, unless the gynae people really mess up. Saturday I am off to see the Rory Kinnear and Anne Marie Duff (terrible reviews, but I am crossing my fingers) Macbeth at the National with Andrea and Sunday I am taking all the kids to see Amanda Palmer in Birmingham. I do not have time to be ill. There is much living to be done.